Loving Darkness
by ClockworkCountess
Summary: She exists, which is more than can be said for hundreds of others. A servant in the Malfoy household, Hermione leads an almost adequate life. The war, Harry, Ron and most of herself were all lost. However, strange kindess and great change are administered at the hands of the most powerful, and infamous deatheater of all. Draco Malfoy hides a secret and the question is why.
1. Deserving

**Author's Note: **Welcome to the first chapter of my new fic, _Loving Darkness_! I am quite excited about it at the moment, and I'm hoping for some reviews, constructive criticism, and whatnot from you Lovelies! Of course, I am no J.K. Rowling but I do hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. -CC

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**Deserving**

He was back. Her worry disappeared replaced by fear, palpable fear. He was always so angry; so hurt, when he came home from the inductions. He would be in blind rage, eaten alive by demons haunting enough to make her frightened without even seeing them; without knowing them. She had seen what they did to him though; changed him, devastated him, and tortured him to his split soul. Once he'd burst in yelling incoherently, claiming his death was upon him. He began beating himself against his walls, bloodying his hands and lips; creating purple bruises wherever his flesh made contact with stone. It wasn't until he was forced a dreamless sleep potion that he ceased, fell to the floor and slept.

This was why the war had been lost, the reason the last shreds of hope had shattered. They had underestimated the Dark Lord, his evil was unimaginable and they as the silly teenagers they had been actually believed it would be as simple as a killing curse. That was death to an ordinary wizard, but Voldemort was no ordinary wizard, he wasn't human either. Dumbledore hadn't even known. The only people who knew where those still here, deatheaters like Master Malfoy and slaves like herself. Harry had been killed instantly, and in the mass chaos she and Ron were blinded by a curse she hadn't even seen coming. When she gained her sight back, she was alone in a cell and could only assume Ron was dead. Weeks later; she couldn't tell exactly how many as she spent much of the time unconscious, she was half dragged to Malfoy Manor with no explanation. A draught of some sort, a healing potion she assumed, was the first kindness she'd received in a very long time, and then she saw no more.

From then on she worked for her keep, but much of the time she was left to her own devices and even allowed in the expansive library. Hermione led a nearly adequate existence. She did exist and that was more than she could say for hundreds of others.

The door crashed open with the clang of a metal knob against a flagstone and there stood a crazed Draco Malfoy, looking to be in a wild panic; as if he were stuck on the tracks as a train barreled toward him. She hadn't ever been a witness to eyes so disturbing in all her life, or to a man so violently uncontrolled. He leaned forward on his toes as if ready to charge on all fours, much like a werewolf waiting to shift into its inhuman form. His silvery eyes were dilated and unseeing, and the sheen of sweat glossed his twitching facial features.

She whimpered, terribly alarmed and unsure of what to do. At this emission of sound he seemed to realize he was not alone and calmed slightly, straightening and breathing in arduous pulls. He closed his eyes and groaned in a low mournful pitch followed by a perilous sway. Hermione gathered her crushed bravery and took a diminutive step toward him to gauge his reaction. He did nothing but close his eyes once more. She stepped again and outstretched her arms incase the need to catch him arose. Then he did something she did not expect; he fell purposely into her, too exhausted to go any farther with his trembling body and he began to weep as only a man deeply wounded could. She made it to the mattress and laid him down. Hermione tried to go for the medicine cabinet hoping to find something that would knock him out, but he grasped her arm firmly immobilizing her.

"I can stop the pain." She said shakily wondering if he could understand her at all. He appeared to, but only shook his head gripping her tighter as another wave of agony hit him full force. She watched in terror as his muscles contracted and his eyes went, if possible, even more demented. His irises were still like stagnant water, and then vanished beneath his eyelids. He was somewhere else. Draco was quiet for barely more than a minute before he began to scream, a saber piercing into the sick silence.

"HERMIONE," he cried in desperation before coming back to reality. She was petrified. Why would he say her name? He'd never said her name.

"I can stop the pain." That was all she knew to do, to tell him, to try to make his anguish end. Draco refused her again with a small turn of his no doubt throbbing head. She winced as his fingers strengthened their hold on her once again. This time he called out for mercy saying "please" repeatedly each appeal getting milder until his mind was back in the present. "Please, I can stop it," Hermione begged practically crying herself. She was frantic. "Please let me stop the pain!" She raised her tremulous voice.

"No," he hissed through clenched teeth grimacing.

"Please!" She implored losing control of her tears. She'd never cried from pure fright since the night that she'd seen the Dark Lord's face for the first time, but she'd be damned if she wasn't now. "Don't do this to yourself!" Hermione tried to wrench her arm away from him, but when she couldn't she lunged for his wand in his cloak.

"You forget your place, Granger." His voice was weak but stern and edged. "I own you and you will do as I say, make no mistake of that." His breathing became laborious as if speaking were a great exercise. Another bout of torture began and his nails dug into her flesh. He howled and screeched, a horrifying sound, but this time he didn't cry for anyone or anything.

She was in heaving sobs when he came about again. "Please, let me take it away." She was so afraid that she was in the presence of a possessed man, or worse, a dying man. She couldn't take anymore dying.

"Have you thought that maybe I want the pain, Granger? That maybe, I deserve it?" He laid in his bed, sweating and deteriorating from the inside out second by second; allowing everything dark to wreak havoc upon him. Why couldn't he just take a potion? Why? Couldn't he tell she'd seen this before? Seen the darkness take over and strip a person of life? She'd seen people willingly kill themselves because of it! She couldn't handle it anymore, not again.

"No one deserves this," she replied in a watery voice as meek as could be. She was shocked when she felt his fingers actually caressing her hand instead of clawing. They traveled down her lined palm and clasped her frail digits comfortingly, rubbing his thumb in circles.

"You're wrong." He spoke softer now, but not by his own will. She could nearly see the life slipping out of him. "One day I will tell you a story," he cringed "…and you will hate me."

"No, I won't hate you." She felt like a mother who was coaxing a confession out of her child. He did not speak again and those were the last words he heard before dropping into a tormented sleep, his hand still around hers. She wondered vaguely what it all meant, what was happening, but it wasn't long before her head dropped and she was asleep kneeling against her master's mattress.


	2. Not to Understand

**Author's Note: **Hello Lovelies! As you may have noticed, I don't have a specific updating schedule. It might be a little soon for me to upload the second chapter, but I was feeling rather inspired today! I'm still hoping for some response (hint!) :). As always, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! -CC

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**Not to Understand**

Dawn. _Bloody Hell! _It was already six! Hermione was going to be in terrible trouble, absolute hell! Rhonda was going to roast her rump for this. She was late to make Master Malfoy's breakfast. She was late to start the laundry, the dusting, and the silver polishing. She was _late_.

Draco Malfoy was a strong believer in an early start with a hearty breakfast at exactly six-fifteen, and here she was sleeping, on his bed no less! Well not on it per se, but touching it. Also…oh of all the things she could be doing to break the rules she was _touching_ _him_! She was going to starve for the next month! Touching her master! No one is allowed to touch Mr. Malfoy he was too much the superior, not that he wasn't everyone's superior these days. He was never to be touched by a person more than two ranks below him, and it was safe to say that Hermione was well past a measly two classes.

After she was able to stop gaping at their interlocked hands she looked up to see a pair of metallic eyes staring back at her completely inscrutable, guarded. Her lips parted with a thousand apologies upon them. How could she be so stupid as to fall asleep holding his hand? Draco smirked and began playing with her thin fingers like a child learning to count. Hermione snapped her mouth shut. It was against the rules to speak when uninvited. His hands were deceptively soft and lithe; oh if Rhonda even knew she was thinking that Hermione would be hung from the roof by her scrawny neck!

He returned his attention to her instead of her fingers and gave a mischievous little smile resembling the impish Malfoy she'd once known as a first year. Then rather suddenly, he came to his senses and released her hand as if she'd burned him. He flew out of bed to dress himself hastily instead of calling a house elf. "You're taking the day off. Do as you please, but stay away from me until I have been asleep for an hour, then you may come in and sleep on your mat." With that he swiftly exited the room and she was left alone in her bewildered state.

Hermione spent three hours in the library curled in the cool leather of an armchair with a downy throw, reading up on wizarding history from the eighteenth century. History had always fascinated her, the patterns, and the risks only the greats took. She enjoyed it well, but her passion was spell making. Unfortunately this was a rare topic, and something she was certainly not permitted to study. Books like those were in Master Malfoy's private collection, which was just as untouchable as he was. She did have the gall to peek at them from her comfortable perch. Each tome was massive and incredibly well-kept behind a gold-rimmed glass panel with an old-fashioned lock that could not be opened even by spell. That did nothing to soothe her curiosity. Not being able to stand her unquenchable thirst for one of those books, she replaced the half-finished history text and decided on a stroll outside.

Hermione made sure the coast was clear of Master Malfoy before entering the hall and raced to the servant's quarters to leave from there. Once outside, she relaxed considerably and even stopped occasionally to smell a flower here and there. Her master's temperament this morning still had her rattled though, and feeling as if she was being monitored. What had run through his mind when he was being so uncharacteristically playful? His orders confused her further. Why had he demanded she stay away from him instead of his usual "go to the library" on occasions when she was not needed? Why wait until he was asleep? Usually Malfoy did not sleep until she was situated; she supposed he liked things to be orderly before he lay down for the night. Would he even be able to sleep with something out of place…that something being herself? Hermione soon had to give up on her train of thought, as it would go nowhere. Sometimes no one understood the workings of the Master. After all they were not there to understand, they were there to do as they were told.

She had paused in her walk without fully knowing she was in front of the stables until she looked up. Smiling she entered and took pleasure in the smell of the freshly dealt out hay. "'Ermione, how've yeh been?" She heard a slightly gruff male voice call from the loft.

"Well enough. What about you, Jeremy?" She replied politely.

"Fine, fine; I get ta' work with the horses ever'day and tha's good enough fer me." He chewed on a bit of chaff and gave a toothy smile. He was three years older than she and from Scotland as was plain from his deep accent. He arrived at the manor a day after her, mystified and scared-stiff. They had become fast friends once she commented on his Scottish background telling him about the boy Oliver Wood whom she had gone to school with. "Say, I heard o' Master Malfoy's rough night through Cook's lass. Care to tell me 'bout it?" He casually engaged her as he inspected the mare closest to her. Hermione acquiesced leaving out the parts where she'd held Master Malfoy's hand and slept touching his bed. She may be friendly with Jeremy, but even he would gasp at that.

"I sure wonder what he means to tell yeh, 'Ermione. Will yeh tell me what it is after he says?" He asked, petting the nose of Anya, a gorgeous butterscotch and cream mare with his large calloused hands. She took the moment to recognize Jeremy's tender nature. He was a gentle giant with a sweet face and a contagious grin.

"I would, but I'm not sure he even knew what he was saying," she replied picking at the hay bale she sat on. "He was in so much pain." Jeremy looked at her curiously as if he had something he wanted to say but changed his mind. He instead climbed back into the loft and began to fork down more hay. Hermione called out her friendly goodbyes, and left through the back door, just narrowly missing the entrance of the man in question himself. Hermione slunk low, to where she was just able to see into the window.

Jeremy saddled Master Malfoy's storm cloud colored horse, Farren. Malfoy looked highly agitated, nervous even. She had the sudden realization that it had been years since she'd seen an obvious emotion on his angular features. Hardly giving Jeremy time to get out the way, he thundered out of the stable leaving the distinct impression that he was running away.


	3. Disguises

**Author's Note: **I am so appreciative of the response I've gotten for my first two chapters! I'd specifically like to thank the Lovelies, Sky and kvance for their feedback! I know the beginning of a fic can always seem slow, so I am trying to gather up steam to get to the good stuff. This chapter is a bit longer than the last two so I hope you all enjoy! -CC

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**Disguises**

Hermione did exactly as she was told and stayed away from Master Malfoy all day, she didn't catch a single glimpse of him. True to his orders, an hour after he retired to bed at midnight she entered his room as quietly as was possible. He wasn't asleep. The room was coated in darkness except for the glowing moon lighting the floorboards in silver. His similarly colored eyes were blankly staring at the door she'd just opened. Had he been waiting? She couldn't help but wonder. She didn't mean to sound brash even in her own thoughts, but he had held her hand in a conscious state and told her exactly when to come to his room.

"Don't stand there like a post, Granger. Come in." He ordered with an exhausted sigh. She stepped over the threshold, closed the door with a soft thud and made her way over to her mat at the foot of his bed. She hurriedly made herself comfortable and listened to the shuffling on the mattress above her followed by an overly quiet, tense silence.

The ticking of the grandfather clock in the far corner of the room seemed to have gotten an octave louder. She heard Malfoy restlessly toss around in the sheets. He was frustrated, she didn't know how she knew it but something about the way he threw the comforter off the bed seemed angry. In all the time she had slept in this room, Draco had the ability to simply shut his eyes and fall asleep, but tonight he turned ceaselessly and sighed in irritation.

Hermione closed her eyes and worked on blocking out the noise. Trying to sleep however was of no use. She felt like she had eyes staring at the back of her neck. She finally had to turn over to look and put an end to her paranoia only to find that she was being watched…closely.

Malfoy was leaning over the edge of his king bed and hardly blinking. He looked strangely supernatural; his eyes were the color of the moonshine and the hair falling over his forehead was ghostly pale in the light. His skin remained unmarred as if he'd just come out of the womb. He gazed at her silently, making her uncomfortable and awkward as well as a bit frightened. Just as she began to wonder if she ought to break the rules and say something, he extended a baby-soft hand and touched her hair, coiling a curl around his fingertip. Within seconds he withdrew sharply and dashed back to his place in the bed where she could no longer see him. A discomfited hush settled around them and neither could sleep with the tension. Finally, he gave another sigh and said; "I'll tell you a story one day, Granger, and you'll hate me."

Hermione didn't know whether to remain silent or to speak…and if she were to speak was she to disrespect his authority and disagree or be rude and side with him? After an extended hesitation she decided on what felt best. "I won't hate you." She whispered and did not receive any answer other than steady breathing.

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This morning she did not sleep in. Her internal clock was back to standard now that the abnormalities were done with and she had returned to sleeping on her mat. At 4:45 in the morning, she tied her apron around her ever-slimming waist. All the stress and dread over the last two years had taken a toll on her body. At the beginning of her residence here she did not touch food for days exclaiming that she would rather starve than admit defeat and that was partially true, but the other truth was that she didn't believe she could stomach anything with her grief for Ron and Harry eating away at her. Hermione silenced her painful thoughts and tiptoed out the door and to the kitchen.

Rhonda's large silhouette was visible from behind a wall of steam as she stood over the piping hot stove. "Ah well, nice of you to join me this morning, Hermione." She remarked in an accusatory tone. Hermione instantly began to apologize for yesterday and explain herself but she was hushed impudently. "Master Malfoy told me of your special day off. No one wonders how you received such a luxury." The portly woman turned to look her up and down with the smallest hint of disgust and a fair bit of judgment peeking through her mask.

"No I didn't… He had a bad night, I couldn't have…" Hermione stammered and blushed. She always had a blushing problem. Someone just had to insinuate sex and her cheeks went up in flames.

"Thou doth protest too much." Rhonda raised her eyebrow while stirring chicken broth in a gargantuan pot just large enough to cook a child, Hermione mused angrily. How dare she? "Anyway, I know it was not your fault. You are never to refuse, even on things like that. Now hush up and get to work." She ordered dismissing Hermione's earlier comment. She closed her mouth deeming it negligible to waste time trying to convince the cook standing beside her. Rhonda was of the overly stubborn nature and she would still believe her own way.

After the last decorative touches were added to the food Mr. Malfoy's dressing elf relayed that Master would take it in his room and to have "Granger bring it up." Rhonda gave her a withering stare placing the tray in her hands and sent her away without a word.

Hermione's hands were shaking and because of this she had to move extremely slowly. What did he want with her now? The way he looked at her last night had haunted her even after she'd gotten to sleep. She thought to inquire of someone if he suffered from split-personality disorder. At one moment he was positively bold with her if not even flirtatious and the next practically running away from her presence, a very curious way to behave indeed.

Before she even tried to balance the tray in one hand to knock he ushered her in impatiently with an "about bloody time" added under his breath. Once she was inside he paid absolutely no mind to the breakfast but looked at her pensively from his reading chair near the bay window. Finally he broke eye contact with her and the strange silence. "You are to come into town with me today," he left no room for her to speak and said as an afterthought; "disguised as a pureblood."

Without her consent her jaw hung open. The penalties she would receive if they were caught! A mudblood, and not just any mudblood, servant posing as a pureblood! No one had the audacity, surely! "Close your mouth and do not speak of this to a soul. Go to the library for half an hour and then come back here. By then I'll have some resemblance to some family in mind." She rushed out of the room her heart beating thrice its normal rate. Something was more than amiss with Master Malfoy, he was mentally ill; of that she was certain.

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Hermione rapped once on the door hoping to be able to run away with the assumption that he'd changed his mind; of course, she being she, no such thing happened. Instead Master Malfoy came and answered the door, pulling it open and inviting her in as if she were someone of great company. "Please, do sit, Ms. Amelia Van Rogan from the states, more specifically Maine. Your father has made a great fortune investing in the maritime market has he not?" He spoke attempting to hide a playful smirk and failing miserably. At Hermione's baffled demeanor he chose to explain himself properly.

"Today you will be the daughter of an old man I was once acquainted with. He died a year and a half ago, alone. He never married or had a family that anyone knew of. He was a very private man, yet his fortune was left to an unknown heir…in your case perhaps an illegitimate child?" For a moment Hermione could do nothing but stare blankly at her master. He really was planning to go through with this…he could not be mentally stable. "You can choose your name, of course. I picked Amelia at random. It's older and rather American sounding, I think."

Hermione remained quiet pondering what in the world was happening to her rather than what her pseudonym for this demented game should be. That's what this was, wasn't it? A game? She was aware that an uncomfortably long amount of time had passed but she couldn't bring herself to say a damn thing.

"Is it taking you this long to decide on a name? Honestly it doesn't take expectant mothers this long, Granger." He tapped his foot on the dark floors impatiently.

"Amelia is lovely," she finally spluttered out, unable to believe what was happening.

"Your middle name?"

"Erm…Ro…Rowan."

Draco's lips curved upward into an almost smile. "Very good, maybe you do have some taste about you. Roderick was not a man of good looks, so we'll have to say your mother was a beauty. Appearance charms can't change too much." Did he just call her pretty? Oh, what was she getting herself into? Pretending to be the pureblood daughter of a rich capitalist, touching _the_ Draco Malfoy, and having magic preformed on her which was entirely illegal! She would go into epileptic fits any moment now. What was the purpose of all this madness?

Master Malfoy waved his wand over her various features changing her hair, eyes, ears, height and even the size of her feet. She was then directed to the full-sized mirror hanging on the door of his closet.

Hermione didn't look a thing like herself to someone who didn't know who she was. She was very attractive and extremely pureblooded. Even with her uniform still on she looked aristocratic and delicate. There were not a lot of major changes. Her face shape was the same, she was maybe an inch taller, and her hair was still curly albeit the frizz was gone and it was a darker color with a bit of red in it. There were some subtle things to be noticed, her eyes were not chocolate-brown, but nearing black, her breasts were smaller giving her thinness an even more obvious presence, her lower lip was slightly fuller making her seem utterly pouty, and the oxfords she wore became roomy. There was one thing she didn't notice though, until Master Malfoy pulled back her hair to reveal her new set of tiny ears. She couldn't help but frown…they were not petit and girly, they were puny.

"I'm sorry but I had to have a bit of Roderick in you besides the eye color which is rather common. No one will question your lineage after they catch sight of these." He chuckled under his breath and went to his armoire to give her something to wear, and transfigured a pair of cream pumps into her new size.

Hermione was awed by the dress laying on Malfoy's bed. It was so…rich. She tentatively reached out to the robin's-egg blue silk mikado as if expecting an alarm to go off at her touch. At the feeling of the fabric her mind took her back to the last time she'd worn something so nice and feminine. It was fourth year at the Yule Ball; she'd prepped her hair the night before and still spent two and a half hours taming it. Her mother had picked out her dress. She hadn't wanted something from Madam Malkins' like everyone else. She wanted something that would make a certain someone notice her. Hermione was bound and determined to get him to look at her that night, although that hadn't been her original hope.

She wished every day prior that Ron would ask her and as the ball grew nearer she became more and more crestfallen and then accepted Viktor's offer. She was angry when the very next day Ron asked her, mostly because she was his last resort, but partly because she couldn't accept and hadn't waited. However, all of that was put behind her when she walked down the stairs and she saw Ronald staring at her like an awestruck child. Hermione felt completely exposed and nervous but at the same time thrilled. His date; one of the Patil sisters, she forgets which one, didn't seem too excited to be with him; especially about his dress robes. She thought that despite the age of his clothing, he looked rather handsome…she had always loved old-fashioned things.

She had a fine time with Viktor and they were friends enough, but the best part of the evening was looking back at the couple for the night and seeing them beside themselves with boredom. The night did not end on a high note, but reflecting back on it Hermione couldn't help but smile at his obvious jealousy; her plan had worked.

She snapped back to present when the door opened and an aggravated looking Draco Malfoy stared at her. "Why, may I ask, aren't you dressed?" She flinched and instantly dropped to her knees with her head bowed, something she was instructed to do if her master was ever angry.

"I am terribly sorry, Master Malfoy." She apologized while looking at the dark wood grain. She expected a slap on the back of her neck, like she'd seen him deliver to the other servants. When she did not receive one she hesitantly peeked up at him to see his emotionless face. His hands remained at his sides.

"Just get dressed. Quickly." His long, lean legs carried him out the door again within a matter of seconds. She stood and hastily removed her smock and newly large bra and slipped the wide-strapped summer dress on cautiously, reveling in the smooth texture against her skin. She stepped into the ivory heels just as Mr. Malfoy reappeared.

"Good, now we shall take our leave." He extended his arm to her in a gentlemanly manner. She wished that they would just floo, but of course this expedition had to continue to become even more illegal and apparition was, by no means, the end of it.


	4. In the Lion's Den

**Author's Note: **Hello, Lovelies! Ok, in my vain attempt to suck up, I will tell you that this chapter is quite a bit longer than usual and that I appreciate kvance and Sky for their reviews! I would love, love, love some more feedback (even though I admitedly don't deserve it since it took me forever to update!). I have started back at college, so...I have no life anymore. I hope you all forgive me *insert pathetic, pleading university student picture here* and enjoy the chapter! Now, read!

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**In the Lion's Den**

Hermione's head was swimming when they arrived and the pavement was tipping around dangerously. A sturdy arm steadied her by the small of her back. "Are you alright?" His left hand gripped tightly around her bicep as she swayed precariously. For a fraction of a moment, she thought there might have been honest concern in his steely eyes. She had grown so unaccustomed to apparation, or really anything that had once belonged to her old life.

"Yes, Master." She squeaked trying to keep her tone even. Her stomach was doing backflips inside of her making her glad she hadn't eaten breakfast. Hermione's palms were sweating. She was afraid, that she knew, but the worst part was she didn't know exactly what she was afraid of. Draco Malofy's behavior was disconcerting to say the least, but she had to assume that his reasons for behaving this way had to be even more so, and that terrified her.

"Well then, shall we get a bite to eat first or shop around?" His hands lingered as he leaned in almost comfortably. Now he was just being cruel. Didn't he know that she was never to give her opinion to her Master? Wasn't that a common rule with every household? Hermione was torn; terrified to do the wrong thing. She had seen what happened to those who displeased their owners. She was too distracted to notice his pale lips brush by her ear "Play along, Granger." His breath tickled the baby hairs on her neck, and he covered the whisper with a chaste kiss on her cheek. Hermione nearly fainted at the impropriety. He let out a good-natured chuckle; he was so close that she could feel the rumble rise from his diaphragm.

"Who is this lovely lady swooning at Draco Malfoy?" A third unfamiliar voice asked. She watched as Mr. Malfoy turned and clasped forearms with the man.

"This is Ms. Amelia Van Rogan, Blaise." He said and discretely motioned for her to put out her hand. She did so and blushed when Blaise pressed his lips against it. He smirked becoming even more devilishly handsome.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr…"

"Zabini," he supplied "but please call me Blaise." His bleached teeth glinted against his swarthy complexion.

"Of course." Hermione was vastly uncomfortable but smiled regardless. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and a cold bead of sweat trailed down the nape of her neck.

"Well, Amelia and I were deciding on whether to have brunch or shop first, but I'm afraid that if she is not disinclined, I'm going to have to go for the brunch." Draco's cool thumb swept her anxious perspiration away while his remaining digits rested on her collarbone. This was much to intimate. Her mouth was suddenly dry and her mind completely void of response. "Amelia?" He applied pressure to the back of her neck, jolting her reply.

"No, I'm not disinclined at all." Draco nodded and extended his arm to her.

"Well in that case, you must join the Mrs. And I. We were just discussing something to eat," His thick dark brow cocked poignantly. "I see you about to protest, Draco and I'll have you know that I won't take no for an answer." Mr. Malfoy snapped his mouth shut and gave a forced agreement. "Is this well for you, Ms. Van Rogan?" Blaises' ebony eyes fixed on her; his genuineness took her and for a moment she felt slightly…normal? Accepted? Whatever it was, it was dangerous: a trick of isolation.

"Lovely." Hermione smiled once more, becoming progressively anxious. Her Master had obviously not intended this to happen and that frightened her.

"Daphene is in this shop here, she'll be out…" Before he finished his sentence a delicate witch gracefully exited the boutique. She was astonishingly gorgeous, practically floating as she walked toward her husband. "We were just discussing you, dear."

"Ah, good things I hope." She responded in a kind yet markedly rehearsed way. Her lilac robes still oscillated slightly around her legs. She was the type of woman who made an impression; the type of woman who others consulted in matters of femininity while silently coveting, and the type of woman who never perspired; Hermione thought dryly.

"Nothing but, Daphene," Draco captured her hand and just barely touched it to his lips.

"I have invited Draco and Ms. Van Rogan to eat with us."

"Oh wonderful! I've been keen to try the new café down the street, if no one is disinclined." She handed her purchase to her husband absently while surveying who she thought to be Amelia Van Rogan. Hermione wondered what Daphene might have seen. She had a hard time remembering what she looked like at the moment herself. What color were her eyes again?

It was a short walk to the café they later found out to be named Cappris. It was a dainty place to have lunch, clean and intimate with the freshness of cut flowers and buttercream tablecloths. This was the sort of place she and Ron would have gone if they'd had an alternative to Madam Rosemerta's; Hermione mused, allowing herself the small luxury of a dream. Sometimes it helped to have a "could have been" and sometimes it pierced her most sensitive heart. In this moment, however, it provided a comfort. She was after all, a lamb in the lion's den.

There was a light pressure on the small of her back easing her into the chair pulled out for her. She watched as Master Malfoy sat to her left. He was graceful and elegant, but there was an undercurrent of daring strength not to be trifled with. He was a viper, but a composed one in the company of his colleagues.

"So Ms. Van Rogan, tell us about yourself." Blaise took a polite sip of his water more for the occupation of his hands than for his thirst.

"Oh, well there's nothing much to tell compared to this group." Hermione was experiencing an inner panic attack. What was she supposed to do? What was she supposed to say?

"Come now, none of that Ms. Van Rogan." Daphene protested with false modesty. She did look rather flattered, if not smug as she petted the ends of her ink-dark hair.

"Please, do call me Amelia." She said after a small sip of water. It did nothing to help her parched mouth and constricted throat. "I came to visit Draco from Maine. I do enjoy it here; especially the gardens at his Manor. They are splendid." Hermione was praying she wasn't as transparent as she felt. Actually, she felt like she had a bloody siren strapped to her forehead. Draco on the other hand was quite impressed.

"Maine? How interesting. How did you come to know the charming Mr. Malfoy and his gardens?" Daphene asked, one perfectly shaped eyebrow rose toward her hairline as if hinting at something suggestive. She was truly a nosy woman. Draco raised his eyebrow in amusement and Blaise raised his just because they were. Apparently it was something required of the social people.

"Our father's used to do business. You may have heard of him, Roderick Van Rogan."

"Oh yes, I did know of him. He passed away this last year; my deepest condolences, Amelia." Blaise said as his wife mirrored his look of unemotional sympathy.

"Thank you. He used to bring me with him when he would travel here. Draco has been a friend of mine since childhood." She finished hoping beyond hope that everything was believable and vague enough. She did recognize Blaise from school, but didn't know if his and Draco's friendship had begun earlier than Hogwarts. "And how about you, Blaise, how did you come to know our famous Draco?"

"Really, Amelia your praise is too kind." Mr. Malfoy added in amiably. His comment was awarded shining smiles all around the table.

"Draco and I have known each other practically from birth, but we didn't become good mates until we were in our school, Hogwarts. Have you heard of it?"

"Oh yes, he did tell me the most fantastic stories of it. Were you both in…oh bother, what is the name?" Hermione pretended to be stumped so the conversation might take a break from her for a bit.

"Slytherin" Draco helped.

"Oh yes, that's the one! Were you both in Slytherin?" She rephrased looking earnestly intrigued even though she knew the answer. Draco was sitting dumbfounded by her acting talent. Was this really the saintly girl he knew and despised in school; lying boldfaced over lunch?

"Yes, we were both in the best house in Hogwarts." Blaise answered with an attractive smirk. She was reminded of his deeply egotistical self back in fifth year, though to be fair, he didn't have much to be humble about. Rich, handsome, genial, though she couldn't say anything about his general intelligence. Hermione couldn't remember him much beyond his good looks. "Daphene was as well." He added at his wife's barbed glance.

"Oh! Well it appears I missed out, being tutored at home." Hermione said feigning a small frown of disappointment. Truthfully, she would much rather be tutored at home than in Slytherin any day.

"Certainly not, we were forced to go to classes, some of which were incredibly superfluous; where as you, no doubt, learned only the most specific and useful of things. I envy much of your education. I recall we even had a class called Defense against the Dark Arts." Cut in Draco. He seemed to be waiting to gage her reaction, and the Zabini's were being well-mannered and making eye contact with her as well.

"Well that's the oddest thing to study. You are right; I was not forced to sit through such subjects. My father pre-approved everything I was taught and he surely would have done away with that." Hermione answered. They were moving on to more uncomfortable grounds and she was losing her handle on the conversation.

"Oh, we all tried, but the school at that point was filled with mudbloods, halfbloods, and blood traitors; all raving lunatics." Blaise said with distaste and sipping his water as if he'd swallowed something foul. At this point something in her chest was becoming icy while something in her stomach was blazing. It'd been a long while since she'd felt her true anger starting to bubble up again, but as much as she would have loved telling this man what's what, the food arrived. She couldn't afford to lose her temper anyway.

The rest of brunch was filled with inane chit-chat and went relatively smoothly except for at one point where she'd almost given herself away. She had asked for the story between Blaise and Daphene, were they school-time sweethearts? Did they meet after graduation? A strange silence enveloped them in which Draco had to excuse her by saying that they did things differently over in the states and then explaining to her that their marriage was "pre-arranged to be of the best sort." She naturally knew that it meant that they did not love each other and were forced together; something Hermione greatly disapproved of. She almost felt pity for the couple before her and was grateful she wasn't put through that. She would rather not be married at all, than to be married to someone she didn't love. Daphene tactfully diffused the awkwardness by inquiring about Hermione's agenda for her visit and then all but demanded that she go to Honeydukes if she was craving any sweet treats.

The meal ended on a happy note, though it was none too soon for Hermione and Draco. They said their goodbyes and Daphene claimed that she wished to have Amelia over to tea, which Amelia tittered at in a refined way instead of answering. Once again they were alone and pleased to be so even if it was somewhat awkward.

"Impressive." Draco gazed at her almost quizzically. "Truly." There was a brief pause while Master Malfoy seemed to ponder something. "I have one quick errand to run in Hawthorn's. There is a dress shop next door, I want you to go in and pick one out. It must be formal. I'll come in to see it shortly." Draco left her at the door to Jezzabelle's "_the finest gowns in town_." What in the world? She stood uncomfortably for a moment before gathering the courage to walk in alone.

The store was incredible. There was more finery than she'd seen at one time in her entire life. The closest she been to this was Madam Malkins' dress shop and even then she hadn't gone in there very often. Everything was so elegant; she couldn't help but run her fingers through the various fabrics of the dresses next to her. "Hello, may I help you, Madam?" A clerk came up beside her, head bowed.

"Yes, I need something formal." She answered sounding terribly redundant. "I am going to be with Mr. Draco Malfoy." The mousy girl helping her let out a small gasp and quickly escorted her to the back rooms of the shop. The front of the boutique looked like rags compared to these gowns. They were absolutely enchanting, each one a masterpiece covering cast-iron dress forms. Her companion kept her eyes downcast when she addressed Amelia. Underneath each dress form was a small plaque with a name engraved. Hermione looked through the first row. Eleanor, Narcissa, Pansy, Millicent…she realized that she was gaping at custom creations belonging to very prominent pureblood witches. What was she doing here?

"Is there a certain style you prefer, Madam?" All Hermione could see of the girl was her medium brown hair.

"Just something that suits me, I suppose. Could you help me find that?" The real person behind the mask of Amelia couldn't help but be sweet and kind to the young woman beside her. She must have been just old enough to have a summer job, and was already working with the types of people who snubbed her for something completely out of her hands. It saddened Hermione, it really did.

"I would be honored. May I look upon you?" The girl pushed her bangs back behind her ears. Hermione's heart tore. What a sad place she lived in with a need for such a question.

"Of course; how could I expect help from someone who can't see me?" She replied, perhaps overly emphatically for the pureblood she was supposed to portray. Her attendant turned her head upward, her face painted in mild shock. All Hermione could do without reaching to touch the girl was smile reassuringly. The girl's lips twitched as she lifted the corners in a faint smile, unsure that this was the right thing to do. Then she sized Amelia from top to bottom.

"You have a wonderful figure, Madam. If you are not disinclined, I think I know the perfect fit." What was it with everyone making sure she was not disinclined? Were purebloods often disinclined?

"Thank you that would be perfect, I'm sure."

"Yes, Madam" She was escorted to a luxurious dressing room. It was big enough to be a bedroom; there were two plush and couches, hardwood floors, a hide rug, an entire wall of floor to ceiling mirrors, and a step stool over to the side to get a front and back view. Was this life in the lap of luxury? There was a shy knock on the door.

"Come in." She invited from the cushy suede couch. The girl entered, not looking anywhere near Amelia and hung the bag on a rack. Her expert hands unzipped it with record speed and withdrew a stunning gown. Hermione put forth a great effort to keep her jaw from dropping. She'd never worn something so exquisite in all her life. After giving permission to be dressed by the salesclerk, they both worked to get her inside the dress, a great effort surprisingly. The salesclerk made a few adjustments with her wand to make it fit correctly and Hermione never felt more like a princess. She admired herself in the mirror enough to be pushing the edge of vanity, something she thought any respectable pureblood witch would do.

"Is this acceptable for you, Madam? This piece is the only gown created by Antony Diregaldi available this season. If you would prefer to have a custom gown, I would be more than happy to arrange that for you."

Barely able to take her eyes off the mirror, Hermione informed the fidgety teen that Draco Malfoy would be coming in to see her and should be showed back upon arrival. "He will have the final say." The girl nodded and left to see if the awaited visitor had arrived. Draco must have been waiting in the store for it wasn't but two minutes before he was brought into the dressing room.

"You look stunning." He said upon arrival more as a statement of fact than a compliment. Hermione was at a loss for words. In an odd way, Draco was in his element here among the glamor. His masculinity was not compromised but his sophistication was enhanced. Class was a language he spoke.

"Thank you," She responded uneasily to his praise. She was, after all, still his muggleborn servant; she just didn't look like it.

"It's lovely." He eyed her up and down once again and then addressed the attendant. "Have it wrapped." She nodded and tapped a tag inside the plastic cover with her wand. Mr. Malfoy took his leave and Amelia was helped out of the mass of champagne gossamer and back into her day dress.

She joined Draco in time to see him shrink a purchase in a Hawthorn's bag and vaguely wondered what the store sold. She was to busy wondering what in the hell she was doing here. Was he really buying that gown? What was he buying it for? Hermione made a point not to look at the numbers on the register and clumsily hooked her arm around the black-cloaked one extended to her.

Once they were back safely to the Manor, he let go of her and changed her back. It was an odd feeling. She had the sudden urge to look in a mirror. Logically she knew what she would see looking back at her, but something was different. She felt different…not bad, she decided, just different.

"Come to bed in an hour," Malfoy instructed as Hermione watched his broad back moving toward the stairwell, "and keep the dress, Granger. It becomes you."


	5. Of Hives and Hate

**Author's Note:** Hello Lovelies! First of all, a big thanks Scarlet Dewdrops and boothaddict77 for their reviews *round of applause*! Okay, so my updating sucks! I know, I know. I'm so sorry! To be fair my proffessors all got together and decided to have all their exams in the same week! Who does that? It's just rude! Anyway, I confess that this chapter was a bit difficult for me to write and I'm not sure how I feel about it, so I would be much obliged if you all would give me your thoughts and opinions. Pretty please? Now, go on and read!- CC

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**Of Hives and Hate**

She knew she should have rejoined Rhonda and Elsie or even Jeremy. She should do something productive, something to remind herself of her servitude, but she didn't. Instead, Hermione stole away into the east wing; Narcissa's wing. Master Malfoy rarely came into his mother's old haunts. Minutely, Hermione wondered where the Mistress Malfoy was these days.

There was a small nondescript room without much function. She supposed that when one had as many rooms as the Malfoy's did, there was a danger of that happening. It was too small to be a parlor and inappropriately furnished to be a study. It was in that room that Hermione studied herself in the ornate mirror propped up against the entirety of the available wall space. It was certainly too large for this room but undoubtedly too mismatched to be displayed anywhere else.

Hermione had brown eyes, the same eyes she'd always had. Frizzy, brunette hair sprung out in a voluminous mass from her ovular head. Her eyebrows arched at the ends, her nose sloped slightly upward, and her lips were thick and rosy. Was she beautiful like Amelia Van Rogan? The mantel clock chimed 4 times. Had she really spent an hour staring at herself in a mirror? Maybe she was becoming more like a pureblood after all.

Hermione climbed the staircase to her master's bedroom. She hoped that she might stop wondering about Master Malfoy's strange behavior soon. So what if he wanted to go to bed at four in the afternoon. He had all the leisure in the world, right?

"Come in, Granger." It was eerie how he could always sense her presence.

Draco Malfoy was sitting in his armchair holding a teacup. He looked like a painting; one from generations passed. His robes were modern as well as his short hair, but something about him was centuries old. Perhaps there was something to be said about ancient, blue blood family lines. "Sit." He gestured to the chair across from him. She did so and looked at the silver tea set between them. She had polished it a week ago. It was sparkling. She watched as his pale hands poured a second cup of tea and offered it to her.

"Thank you, Master Malfoy." She bowed her head, coffee-colored eyes downcast.

"Stop doing that, Granger." His voice was edged, nearly a growl. "You spent the entire day with me and you still act like a bloody slave." Why was he so angry with her? She was only doing what was appropriate. What else did he want from her? What was the point of all the madness? "Have your tea." He demanded while staring out the window, his lips pursed so hard that they were whitening. So now she was supposed to act like his servant again, Hermione railed inside her head. She was silent and took the most miniscule, grudging of sips, but that was enough apparently.

"One day, I'll tell you a story," Malfoy didn't drink his own cup. "…And you will hate me." He twisted a platinum band around his right ring finger. Not even a moment later her eyelids were closing on their own accord. She was only vaguely aware that her tea must have been laced, and she could have sworn there was a dash of coppery red in the hearth right before the darkness took over.

* * *

Hermione's eyes opened in the bleak light preceding sunrise. Strange. She didn't remember going to bed. Her mat was much more uncomfortable than usual, her back was so stiff; it was like she hadn't moved in ages. Oh, her head hurt. Hermione's brow creased. Gingerly, her fingers massaged her right temple. What had she done to herself? Actually, that was a rather good question. What had she done? She couldn't remember anything after coming home. Panicked, she took a mental survey. Master Malfoy had taken her…Amelia Van Rogan to Diagon Alley, they had eaten lunch with Blaise and Daphene Zabini, she had tried on a dress, which he bought, they had come home, and then…nothing. There was a rustle of sheets. "Sleeping in, Granger?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin. What time was it? Despite the acerbic aching in her joints she flew up from her mat, a thousand apologies on her lips. "Sweet Merlin, it's alright." The comforter fell behind him as he got up. His hair was ridiculous; it bore a striking resemblance to a cockatoo. Malfoy was completely porcelain except for his forearm; the black was a striking contrast, striking and horrifying. Tiny blonde hairs pricked up on his arms with a slight chill. The thicker hair on his legs was so pale it seemed white. His pants were a light gray-blue and Hermione stopped breathing.

He was so _close_. Where did she look? Merlin, where did she look? She could feel her neck coloring, her cheeks were blazing; she just knew it. Logically, it was nothing. Biologically he was a healthy, young man in the thrush of hormonal vigor. She knew that. This shouldn't be so uncomfortable! She had spent countless nights and mornings in this room with him…just never a morning where she'd noticed _that_.

A slight pressure on her jaw drew her eyes upward to look on her Master's face. Her blush deepened when she saw the ghost of a smirk on his lips. _He knew._ She could just die. Merlin, had she really just checked out Draco Malfoy's package? "Alright, Granger?"

"Erm…Y…Yes, Sir." She spluttered like a dolt. She apparently had all the maturity of a prepubescent first-year.

"No, I don't think you are." He examined her eyes and placed a hand on her forehead. Had he always been kind? "Your pupils are dilated. Lay down." She stood stunned for a moment under his pointed look. Hermione winced as she moved and a pained breath escaped her as she began to bend. He grasped her bicep and she squealed. "Not there. Get in bed." He helped her onto his mattress. Oh, this was heavenly. Had mattresses always been so soft? She adjusted slightly, falling into the warm imprint that his body had left behind. This was bizarre. This was too bizarre. "What are your symptoms?" He pulled the heavy comforter over her.

"Erm…just achiness really, and chills, and a headache, and I'm a bit itchy. Nothing to worry yourself about." Her voice was meek and her cheeks were still pink from embarrassment. She could hardly look at him, convicting herself.

"Stay. I have a few draughts here. Allergies?"

She cleared her throat as he began walking to the bath. She knew he had more than a few here. Everything from dreamless sleep to regrowth serum was in his medicine cabinet. His back was muscular and pale. There was just the slightest difference in coloring from his forearms arms to his shoulders. Three scars glared against his skin. They were new, still pink and risen. Odd, there hadn't been a meeting.

"Granger?"

"Tollyroot. I'm very allergic to Tollyroot, it's only found in…" She stopped abruptly. Tollyroot is only found in the instant sleep potions. Her stomach grew sick and her chest cold. Why would he drug her? What conceivable reason could he possibly have to drug her? This was it. This was too far! She may be his servant but she was still a bloody person! She may have dirty, muggle blood, but she was still alive! Was he going to tell her? Was he going to pretend like he had no idea what was going on? All the evidence pointed to an allergic reaction. Hives were continually breaking out on her abdomen and itching like mad.

"How allergic to Tollyroot are you?" His voice carried a strange echo from his marble bathroom. She bit her lip. How was she supposed to proceed in this situation? What were the rules if your Master _drugged_ you? She felt the skin break under the pressure of her teeth and the taste of copper flooded her mouth. No. No more.

"I'm very allergic. If ingest any at all, I break out in hives, my joints swell, and I will vomit up all of my food after about 36 hours."

Before she could blink, Malfoy's shirtless, trouser-less self was standing over her muttering incantations. Her body changed immediately. A house elf appeared at the snap of his fingers. "Let Healer Chan know that we're coming in." Bimby disapperated without a second look at her. Hermione's tongue and throat began to itch as if there were a layer of fine hair growing inside of her esophagus.

"Water." She choked.

"Aguamenti." Water began to spill from his fingertips onto her lips. She managed to forget her discomfort for a moment in amazement…_wandless_?

"Can you get dressed?" She nodded and he helped her to his wardrobe. Within moments he was robed and packing a bag. "We're going to apparate, Granger. Your name is Amelia Van Rogan, do you remember? Your father, Roderick Van Rogan died last year. You're visiting on holiday." His voice was tense and she could hear him roughly shoving toiletries in his bag. Just as she adjusted her sleeve (taking no time to wonder to who actually owned the robes), he grasped her shoulder and they were gone.

St. Mungos was a madhouse. Patients stood in their doorways and nurses crowded the check-in station. The entirety of the waiting room was staring at them. Hermione could feel her cheeks reddening even more. At least she could hide it behind an allergic reaction. Three nurses were boldly gaping at them, completely ignorant of the charts in their hands.

A small Asian man with a kind smile approached Master Malfoy. His mint scrubs were a touch feminine. "Good to see you Mr. Malfoy. Shall we go into an examination room?" Without waiting for a reply, Dr. Chan led them away from the gawkers.

With all the ease of an experienced doctor, Chan made undecipherable notes as he asked her a multitude a questions. "Well, Ms. Van Rogan, it appears to be a classic reaction to the ingestion of Tollyroot. I will personally administer an anti-inflammatory for the swelling, a salve for the hives, and we're going to keep you hydrated through an IV overnight." He scribbled down what she assumed were instructions and passed them off to a nurse. She could tell that Dr. Chan wanted to ask what she had been doing with an instant sleep potion, but he'd been paid well to keep his mouth shut. Malfoy sat silently in the corner of the room avoiding eye contact with anyone. They remained quiet throughout her treatment until her IV was finally inserted and they were given a friendly reminder that if Amelia needed anything a nurse would page him directly.

They were left alone in agonizing silence. Hermione was going crazy. There had to be an explanation. There had to be a reason. What could he possibly want with her? Was he testing her? Testing her loyalty, her tolerance, what? What was it? She had a million questions and not even one miniscule, fraction of a clue to go on. She had to do something. She couldn't just lie down and take it anymore!

"You're angry." It was an observation, not a question. He finally managed to bring his eyes up to hers. They were steely and she hated them. Hermione pursed her lips in response. Did he expect her to talk to him? He paused and turned his face to the window. "One day, I will tell you a story…and you will hate me." Merlin, she already hated him! She hated that bloody sentence! Was that his answer for everything? Was that it? A story? What could he have to say? Her heart rate was elevated and the infernal beeping was driving her mad! "Until then, Granger, you just have to trust me."

_What._ What in the bloody hell? _Trust him. _He wanted her to trust him. What for? What conceivable blip of a reason did she have for trusting him? Why would he even care? She remained stubbornly mute. He gave a resigned sigh, "I'm going to get some tea," and left.


	6. The Test in Keys

**Author's Note:** Hello, Lovelies! How are you? I hope all is well in your busy lives! Big thanks to Sky, Raven2hawk4,and boothaddict77 for taking time out to review! You all seriously have no idea how much it makes my day to read any comments you have to share with me. I love it! Anyway, I decided to be a good little writer and update on schedule! *confetti* I, however, am not being a very good student at the moment...no need to dwell on that! I like my little corner of delusion. Now, for some business items: I am toying with the idea of changing the title of this fic...thoughts? suggestions? Also, it would really be a huge help for me if you could share any opinions, critiques, etc. on the plot, my writing style, improvements you'd like to see, whatever! I'm here to listen! With all that rambling done, go read!-CC

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**The Test in Keys**

She and Malfoy spent the whole night in silence. She had taken to the time to memorize the room. It was the size of a hatbox, so it didn't take long. Wasn't it rather counterproductive to make hospital rooms so depressingly dull? The lights went off at 9 p.m. and it felt like an absolute eternity. She didn't sleep well. Malfoy certainly didn't sleep well. The chair he sat in was laughably small for his 6-foot frame and was deeply worn from years of anxious use.

She was discharged promptly at 6:15 a.m. Draco eyes were pinkish and puffy. She was happy to say that she was no longer pinkish and puffy, though a little less rested than she ought to be. Dr. Chan clasped her hand, helped her sit up, and bade her goodbye in that warm, yet disinterested manner only healers had.

"The glamour is wearing off. Hold still." Hermione refused to meet his eyes as he waved his hands over the roots of her hair and lips. He sighed again for what must have been the thousandth time; this one however smacked more of irritation than resignation. She deigned to give him a sharp glare. "Alright. Look, I haven't said anything until now because I understand that you're angry and I respect that. I also haven't said anything because you're actually showing a some backbone and that's refreshing compared to the pathetic, broken, shell-of-yourself act, but enough, Granger. If you're mad, say it. Tell me. Slap me across my fucking face if you must. Silence is a cop-out and you're better than that."

How _dare_ he? Gods she wanted to rip his bleeding throat out. Enough? _Enough?_ He had told her countless times about some ridiculous story, he had disguised her, and drugged her, and_ he_ had enough? Oh, _bollocks_! "Oh, go fuck yourself, you smarmy git!" Hermione gasped and clamped her hand over her mouth, turning at least twenty shades of red. She did not just say that. She did not just tell her master to bugger off. She didn't. Oh, Merlin she was dead meat.

He helped her off the bed with a very unusual smile on his face. "There you go, Granger. Now, you're going to want to smile for the cameras." She was just about to ask him what in the world he was referring to, but he opened the door and she swore she was in the middle of a fireworks show. There were catcalls and whistles and people asking her name, where she was from, to look here or there. It was terribly disorienting. How did all of these people get in here?

She was practically blind and stumbling and certainly not smiling. Malfoy was holding her up by her forearm and leading her through the thick of the crowd. He had obviously done this many times. Hermione knew she should act like this was an everyday occurrence, she knew she was supposed to be aloof, dainty, and pureblooded, but honestly how was she supposed to maintain composure when she was being harangued? She must have looked terrified, because Draco pulled her to his side and shielded her face from the flashbulbs. After a few more blind steps they were outside surrounded by the masses. "We're going to apparate now."

The ground beneath her was soft and loamy. She opened her eyes and took a breath. Thank Merlin they were back, in the far gardens to be specific. "How are you feeling, Granger?"

She was relishing the peace and the space to breathe. "Honestly, Master Malfoy, physically I am fine." She swallowed and gazed down at her fingers. "I am embarrassed about my outburst. I am so very sorry, Sir."

"Don't." This sigh was definitely one of irritation. He looked up at the sky as if pleading for an answered prayer. "Stop apologizing. Just stop."

Hermione didn't understand. She was rude. She had been incredibly rude.

"First of all, I will say this once so _listen._ I don't ever want to hear another apology from you again. I don't deserve it. Don't forget that. Secondly, you are still a person and I expect you to act like it." He was annoyed with her being a servant, actually and legitimately annoyed. If she wasn't supposed to do her job, what in the bloody hell was she supposed to do?

"Okay."

"Good." He ran a frustrated hand through his glinting hair. He was rather imposing like that. She had the strange urge to have a portrait made. This was the essence of the Malfoys. Black robes, blonde hair, a dignified, straight stance even when perpetually perturbed, and a stern face. The background seemed a perfect juxtaposition. The manor gardens were beautiful, more like rolling and cultivated hills than a 'garden' and yet their owners took no pleasure in them. No, the Malfoy's took no pleasure in beauty. How could they when they were surrounded by it? This was not the stuff of the sublime to them; this was the daily view. They were fated to remain stagnantly stoic amidst and despite all of the magnificence.

"One day, I will tell you a story, Granger and you will never apologize to me again." He grabbed her by both shoulders, desperate for her to understand. He was pleading with her. "You will hate me." Hermione was stunned still. He'd said it before, quite a few times now. This though, this was the first time he'd made it known that he meant it. She was going to hate him, and he knew why. She grew very uneasy in his grasp. His stare was penetrating. The worst part of all of it though, was that he knew he deserved it. She felt sick. Before she could say another word he apparated away leaving her alone and trembling.

* * *

She assumed he wanted her to go to the library. She also had to assume that he wanted to be left alone. Her head was reeling. What was she supposed to think? Didn't she have a right to know what was going on? If he wanted her to act like a person, then why the bloody hell didn't he treat her like she was one? A person has a right to know what is happening to them! A servant does not. Which one was she? Was she a living, breathing human being with rights or was she the indentured help? Apparently, she was somewhere in between.

There was a slight chill in the air. 67 degrees was just cool enough to raise goose-flesh on her arms as she walked briskly past the first two rows. Books didn't do unreasonable things. Books were open. Books explained everything. Books were much better than people.

She could walk this path in her sleep. Every single book in the first two complete rows had been read cover to cover. Today was the day for the third row, section G, level 1. Book 206, _Goblin Wars: A Complete History_. The world went quiet as she inhaled the scent of an old, rarely opened tome. This she could understand. This was her haven.

The floor becomes strangely comfortable when immersed in a book. Chapter 4 began the story of General Grinchy, the most decorated goblin in history. "_At the siege of Scoefield weaponry…"_ The words on the page became indecipherable. They were spinning.

Memories were flashing before her eyes, switching and flickering for moments and then flitting away again. Pictures of seconds with Harry and Ron and Ginny and Lavender and Dean and Seamus and Molly and George…they were out of the locked cage she kept around them and running uncontrolled through her mind. The scent of her mother's pumpkin muffins permeated her memory. It was like a sporadic, sensory flip-book inside her head and she couldn't stop it. Why was this happening? She didn't want to think about them! NO! She couldn't do this now! Her heart clenched and she cursed her mind for its treachery. She lingered on thoughts about Dumbledore and then the memory of watching Harry die made itself present. The sound of his screams replayed themselves despite Hermione's efforts to block them out, and abruptly she realized she had no control over her thoughts. She strained and struggled trying to get focused back on the book, but Hermione found she couldn't even see the words on the page or remember exactly what it was about.

The scene changed rather drastically in a matter of seconds and she was watching herself perform the first spell she'd ever created, thus finding her passion. She saw her own ink-smeared hand drop the quill and shakily grasp her wand. She pointed it at the wilted roses and muttered the incantation in a dream-like state. She watched in amazement as they began to straighten and regain color in the slightly browning petals. Pride swelled inside her chest and she let go of the breath she had been holding in anticipation.

A desperate longing lodged itself in her soul and the reminiscing ceased. It had been _so_ long since she had even glimpsed at anything regarding spell-creating.

Her logic finally returned and she recognized all of the signs she'd heard from Harry years ago. It was so obvious now. Hermione's mind was being invaded. She was the subject of occlumency. She calmed considerably knowing at least what was going on with her, but lukewarm anger settled at the pit of her stomach. She was angry. This was not the way a person, a real person with rights, should be treated. He could not possibly expect her to act like she wasn't a servant. It's who she was. She was a servant and she had no claim to change it.

Hermione ignored the indigence, knowing that her master was the only one who could possibly be exploring her mind. She should never disapprove of or be angry with her master. As soon as she realized his presence, he was gone, but the desire still lingered; burning. Hermione tried to stifle it and return to her book, but her mind incessantly wandered to the glass covered shelves at the west end of the room. It would take her twelve steps to get there from her spot on the floor. That was it. Twelve steps. Hermione had to give in. It wasn't like she'd even be able to get to them anyway; she would be satisfied just to see their spines… just a quick peek.

She swiftly passed the rows of Victorian bookcases with their ominous carvings, feeling the necessary hurriedness of breaking the rules. The ebony floor beneath her feet creaked slightly under her fast-moving weight. She began counting the shelves numbering them in her mind for future reference when she came to a knee-snapping halt. There, winking against the dark floor was an old fashioned golden key. She turned her head up and glared at the glass panels; it was as if they were mocking her. One flimsy sheet of glass was all that stood in her way and she could do nothing about it. Slowly she bent to the ground, never taking her eyes off of the glass barrier and gripped the cold metal in her hand. She knew. This was the key to open it, to take away all that had been taunting her for the last two years. It was _so_ tempting. Tantalus and the grapes; how cruel of fate. No one was here, no one had to know; it would just be a peep, a glance really.

She caught herself. It all dawned on her; this was a test; a perverse and brutal test. Master Malfoy would know, and he certainly didn't have to have her permission to know. All he had to do was search her mind anytime he wanted. She was his property after all. The same tepid anger heated the bottom of her stomach once again. She stood the key still icy in her palm, turned, and bolted out of the library unable to stand the torture for a moment longer. She slowed once outside the massive doors and walked down the hall, passing four looming sets of double doors until she reached the arched French set to his private study. Her breathing still came in rushed rasps. Her hand was clinging to the key against her will. How could she let this go? This could give her one mercy; this one semblance of a life she'd loved so well, a life she hadn't known how to appreciate. She had to do it. This was it. There was no lost life to recover. She lowered herself to her knees and laid the key just before the door frame. Hermione Granger never failed a test.


	7. Where To Go From Here

**Author's Note:** Hello Lovelies! I hope everything is wonderful in your crazy lives! Just a heads up, this is going to be a rather long note. I feel the need to divulge a little bit more about myself in regards to this story. I don't pretend to be a good writer, just a passionate one. I have always loved writing, even as just a little youngling. That being said, about three years ago, I hit the wall. You all know it, writer's block. No matter what I tried, I couldn't write anything I cared about anymore. So, this fic is me trying desperately to get my mojo back. Also, as a uni student, I get to spend most of my time analyzing thesis papers which tends to sap my creative juices. Keeping all of that in mind, I am terribly sorry if I take a long time to update, or my chapters/plot feel hard to connect with. I'm really working on it, pinky promise! Okay, I'm annoying myself with all this focus on me so we're done with that! On a completely happy note, I am so incredibly thankful to the reviewers Atlantean Diva, boothaddict77, and Anonymous Guest! This chapter is a bit shorter than usual but definitely more...spicy ;), so go enjoy! -CC

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**Where To Go From Here **

She'd detected him. Draco opened his eyes again to see his father's study…his study. It belonged to him now. The crystal desk clock ticked dutifully away while the rest of this room remained frozen. The stationary pad still bore the initial "L" in the letterhead and an unfinished note in Lucius' rushed scribble.

She'd felt him. Draco leaned into the cold leather. Damn. He grit his teeth behind pursed lips. _Damn._ He was too obvious with her. He was always too obvious with her! Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. As if she weren't already terrified. Bloody perfect. How long had it been since he'd last been sensed? A year? Two? Damn.

He massaged the furrow forming between his brows. He was getting stupid, bloody fucking stupid. Gods the knots in his shoulders were massive. What was he doing? What kind of masochist was he? Gods! What was he doing with her? She had to leave. Hermione…Granger… Granger had to leave now. She had to go, but where? She would be tortured and worked like a common convict. No. No, he couldn't have that. He would have to be better. He would have to kill it. He would stop. Yes. It was just mudblood Granger. It was just puppy love. She and Weasley were barely 17 the last time they saw each other. It couldn't be anything more than an infatuation, a crush, a fond memory, nothing he couldn't squash. For Merlin's sake it had been years! It shouldn't…He shouldn't…It should be done by now. Flames die.

But, he'd seen her everyday. He couldn't escape her! She was everywhere! Merlin, she slept in his room. She had to go. For his sanity, she had to go. He could feel the tension building at the peak of his forehead. Where? Where could she possibly go? Damn it, why did he care? He shouldn't fucking care!

Reflexively, Draco's gaze caught the wraith of a shadow falling just at the door frame. She was there. He froze for a moment as his heart rate skyrocketed. He had the presence of mind to be disgusted with himself. He was Draco Malfoy, the most educated, trained, and highest ranked deatheater in the circle, and here he was jumping at the mere ghost of a girl. The light clink of metal against wood roused him to his feet.

He shouldn't. He shouldn't. Merlin knew he should sit his pitiful arse back down in that chair and wait until she was a safe distance away. Gods, he should walk away. His mind had no say in the matter though. There was no fighting it, none. He was out of his body and watching himself grasp the handle and her as she jumped back in shock. Her mane flew out in all different directions as her back hit the wall. Terrified. She was terrified of him.

He felt an odd protrusion underneath the toe of his Italian leather loafer. There it was, the key to the glass panels guarding his personal collection. Damn it, Granger. If he wasn't sick before, he certainly was now.

She was so _broken._ Just so…limp. She may as well be dead. This was not Hermione. This was not his Granger. This intruder had no business here! Her body the cage had been left open and her spirit had escaped. It was gone. It had bled out and slunk away through the drainpipes. This new resident was a foreigner. He did not know her.

"God damn you, Granger!" He could feel the wildness filling his eyes, spilling through his lips, and seeping from his pores. It was the salt of fury. "God damn you, you filthy…" His snarl died in his throat.

A tear glistened like a crystal, a pear-shaped diamond. He watched as it drooped from her lash on to an ivory cheek. There was a second and a third and then there were streams and her composure crumbled before him and she was crying. She was crying and gasping and trying to move her stock-still legs. Her fight or flight response was at a stalemate and she couldn't move away. She was blind as the floodgates were opened.

What had he done? What had he done! He was so angry, still so murderously mad. He wanted to throttle her until she came back to life in his arms. At least she was doing something, at least she was feeling something, some blip of life but did it have to be this? The real Hermione would have been elated, joyous, and voraciously hungry for the key that this fragment had sheepishly avoided. She hadn't even touched it, didn't even gloss her fingertips over a single spine. This was a coward and his Hermione Granger was no coward. He wanted to scream. He wanted to capture her mouth and give her air to breathe, to prick her finger so he knew she was still human, to jolt her back to life like a lightning strike. She had to come out of this living coma or he'd go insane, completely and violently mad.

Draco couldn't watch anymore. He couldn't watch this indignant surrender, but her lips were moving, trying desperately to form words. Through her heaving sobs she shook her head and her eyes raked up his body to his face. They convicted him with a scorching passion he had not seen since that first desperate kiss in the Gryffindor alcove before the drums of war.

He was shaken from his reverie when her voice finally found itself. "I…I," she heaved, "I don't," she wheezed breathlessly, "I…I don't understand." The sobs broke ground once again. "I don't understand." She blubbered. "I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't understand…" she repeated until it was just a whisper.

Her eyes squinted and she bit back a fruitless, dehydrated cry. Dewdrops still clung to her lashes when she burned him with her gaze. The fire was there. It was still there and he had to have it. He had to posses her. Heaven above, he wanted her!

A feral growl escaped his throat and he took her mouth forcefully, clawing into the small of her back. He devoured her, their lips pushing together, for they were together in this. He could taste the copper from his tongue slicing against her canine. He suckled her bottom lip into his mouth and pulled against its release with his teeth, eliciting a guttural moan from Hermione. Oh Hermione. She had to feel him against her stomach now. He was frantic with lust, absolutely dire. So long, it had been so long. He needed her, he needed her, and Gods just to bring her hips down on him would send him into ecstasy.

He was desperate. With one slight upward thrust of his thigh, her legs parted for him. Oh Gods. Yes. He groaned into their kiss at the dampness his fingers found on the inside of her thigh. She wanted him. He was on the verge; the brutal, beautiful brink. All he needed was on push, one touch. She was dripping for _him_. That thought alone brought him so close to the edge. Bloody hell, he could have been a virgin for her.

Nails scraped on the material covering his shoulders. He bit down on her, just barely avoiding puncturing her perfect lip, and gyrated his hips across her abdomen. A hiss passed between them. From him? From her? Were they still two separate beings?

Damn it, he couldn't take it anymore! His hand slid over her cotton knickers. They were soaking. He wanted to rip them off. Instead, he roughly pushed them aside and felt her slick, warm core. Yes, Merlin, yes. This was heaven. He felt like he was going to burst. Then she went completely rigid. Her eyes were open wide and her mouth set in the "o" of a voiceless scream. Terrified. She was terrified of him.

No. No, no, no, no! Dread and dismay dropped on him like a bomb. He was not the man she wanted. Gods, if she only knew. Anger pulsed through his veins like a monsoon. He choked out a furious whisper "Get away." He didn't have to tell her twice. She whimpered and avoided eye contact as she untangled herself from him. He didn't move. He couldn't. He would never be able to walk away from her. She on the other hand, ran from him like he was the monster under her bed.

Draco leaned back against the wall in defeat. He undid his belt and held himself. It wouldn't take long. He pumped four times and then with a shudder, released. His muscles contracted and relaxed and warm fluid spilled into his hand. Biology was sick. Gods he was pathetic. She had to go. Hermione Granger had to get the hell out of his life.


	8. Scarlet Euphoria

**Author's Note: **Hello, My Lovelies! It has been awhile, and for that I apologize! I really am so sorry, however, I'm not going to make it much better. This is cheat chapter, really half a chapter and, I know, I'm awful!-Gasp!- Making you wait and it's only a semi-update?! Well there is a bit of good news, it earns some of that M-rating ;). Anyway, thanks are in order! Big hugs to Emp94, Honoria Granger, and boothaddict77! Now, off you go!

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**Scarlet Euphoria**

Hermione ran so fast that her legs burned. Her unconscious mind knew the destination before she did and she bolted inside the abandoned semi-parlor and locked the door. In the silence her mind thawed and she finally began to think. _What the hell just happened? _What had just happened? What in the fucking world was she thinking? Oh Gods, Oh Gods, Oh Gods. No. That couldn't have just happened. She did not, he didn't, it wouldn't…but it did. Oh dear, sweet Merlin she had just…

Her womb throbbed. Yes, that had definitely just happened. Her body was screaming; the tension was unbearable. She was all hot and slippery and engorged. She could feel her pulse beating behind her pelvic bone. This was wrong, this was wrong; oh this was so very wrong.

Hermione slid her hand underneath her shift and brushed her sensitive lips.

_Oh._

A shock wave reverberated through her, all the way to her toes and left her tingling. _More_. Her fingers moved without mental provocation. Gods, she was drenched. In three steps she was laying on the chaise, knickers around her ankles. She leaned back into the cushions and closed her eyes, chewing lightly on her bottom lip.

She couldn't remember his face. There was red hair and a wide nose, but she only had her memory, and memories alter. They're feeble and they decay with time. She groaned in frustration and pulled her fingers away. This face was so similar and yet it still wasn't his. This face was the product of a forcibly occupied mind, of the cage she'd put him, and all of the thoughts of her old life, inside. This face was the superposition of features from random people that had piled up inside her subconscious. Her mind was fighting to fill in the gaps she couldn't fucking remember. She knew the lips were wrong. They were not Ron's and they ruined it. If she had only known that there would come a day when she wouldn't have the chance to see, to even know if he still existed; she would have taken a moment to memorize those lips that she loved so well.

The guilt was stifling. Here she was thrumming and pounding and pulsating from kissing another man, and she couldn't even recall his face! She couldn't remember the man she loved! She groaned again. The struggle between her body and her heart raged on.

Gods, it had been _so _long. She'd lost all sense of desire along with her privacy when she became a servant. Her body was making its neglect painfully obvious. She could feel the tightness clenching at her apex. She was desperate. Her perverse mind beat down her loyal heart and the guilt rescinded into the shadows.

Beneath her lids appeared her master, harsh and stern…dominant. _He was naked and biting her nipple. She was moaning._ Her fingers oscillated around her pearl, sending shivers through her abdomen. _His hands were running the length of her torso, so lightly they left a trail of goose-flesh. They finally paused at her hips where they clamped down with such raw force that she could already feel the bruises forming, but it was so __good__. He lifted his head from her flushed breast and kissed her hungrily, possessively. He devoured her. _Hermione was quaking on the chaise, her pelvis pushing back against her own hand. Yes. This was what she needed. Yes. Her fingers were flying upon herself, she could feel the pressure mounting and it was exquisite. She was right there, so close that her tendons were already contracting. _His gray eyes bore into her. They were darkening with cheap, primal lust. The corner of his mouth turned upward, a deviousness that she would never forget, and he finally thrust into her so deeply that she swore she could feel him in her abdomen. _Hermione flung herself over the edge into yellow euphoria. She vibrated through her very nerve endings. Her shoulders dug into the lounge and her toes clawed the rug beneath it. Her hips continued to gyrated on their own volition, slightly suspended in air. _Merlin. _

Hermione was warm…and yet pleasantly cool, in the aftermath. Her chest was a violent red, almost as if a rash were spreading. She tasted the foulness of disgust at the back of her throat. Oh, Gods she did not just do that. The wet patch on the, doubtlessly priceless, white cushion said otherwise.

Her moment of self-loathing was mercifully interrupted, and she was incredibly glad for the distraction of the door chime. Her legs were gelatin and they staggered slightly as she stood, like a foal learning to walk. She did not allow herself a glance in the gargantuan mirror before she left for the foyer.

They great French doors provided a strangely pixellated view of an irate Pansy Parkinson. The glass distorted her already awkward features cruelly, and Hermione's stomach plummeted into a pool of dread. How evil was fate that she only knew the lives of the people she hated? What she wouldn't give for a scrap of news regarding someone, anyone she actually cared about! No, no all she got was the knowledge that the likes of pug-faced Pansy Parkinson were ruling the world. Hermione forced her facial muscles to relax into serene neutrality, and opened the door.

"His fireplace is grated." She snapped upon her first step inside. Her lips were just as smashed in as her nose. Parkinson's condescending gaze accused her of the offense, of course it must be the servant's fault. Hermione had the distinct feeling that Pansy Parkinson would not appreciate being informed of the fact that control of the manor's floo system rested solely with Master Malfoy. "I don't need you to show me in," she sniffed, "I know my way around."

Hermione stepped back and bit her tongue. Before her was the most pathetic woman she'd ever known. If she needed to feel like the owner of Malfoy Mannor, then who was Hermione to stop her. Pansy shamelessly maintained her delusion; it must provide her some kind of comfort. Vainly, Hermione wondered how the witch slept at night with so much insecurity. Her navy robes and inky hair swished in tandem with her determined, self-righteous steps. "And for Merlin's sake, do something about your hair," Parkinson spat as she headed for the staircase. She didn't even deign to look Hermione, the mudblood who had bested her in every aspect in their school days, in the eye. She watched as the pious pureblood ascended, silently, with a copy of the Daily Prophet clenched in her lacquered blood-red talons.


End file.
